Swapped
by Jackson Hanning
Summary: Spain has never understood why Romano is the way he is. Likewise, Romano has never understood how Spain stays so damn cheerful all the time. During a heated argument in the midst of a world conference, Arthur Kirkland gets fed up with the two and places a spell on them.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Welcome to Swapped. Your author is insane. Be prepared for nonsensical writings that may prey on feels, and random notes at the end of chapters. This is normal. Disregard if uncomfortable.**_

_**Human/Nation AU. Will probably drift more into human AU. I use both nation and human names, so don't get confused. That's just how I roll.  
**_

_**Without further ado... Jackson Hanning presents:  
**_

_**Swapped.**_

* * *

**Romano**

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_Cuz I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

_~Iris by Goo Goo Dolls~_

* * *

Lovino Vargas was misunderstood. He knew it, and he liked it that way. Or so he told himself.

Ever since he was a child, he'd been misunderstood. By now it was a way of life. He had no idea how to be anything else. He wouldn't even know where to start. All he knew was that he was the lesser of a pair that was constantly in comparison.

Being _half_ of a nation was tougher than it sounded. Well at least for Lovino – or Romano. He went by and responded to both. His fellow nations generally called him Romano. His brother called him "fratello" and that Spanish bastard called him Lovi, which irritated him to no end. Pretty much everything about Antonio irritated Lovino. Always had, probably always would. Among the many things Romano didn't understand, he just couldn't wrap his brain around Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and his perpetual, fucking _cheerfulness_.

It was sickening

Really, maybe Lovino was just jealous. He wasn't a very happy person. Ever since he'd been compared with his brother and discarded by his grandfather and Austria... ever since he'd been stuck living with that pervy Spain and subjected to being _half_ of a nation. The lesser half. The unwanted half. The half that really could be governed by the same person who governed the northern half of the country. He'd been living in a shadow his entire life. He'd never really been necessary. He'd always been left behind.

Romano didn't know what it was like to trust people. If he ever had, he'd been too young to remember. He must have, once. He remembered vividly how much it hurt being left behind by Grandpa Rome the day he decided to take Veneciano and leave. He had probably trusted Rome. He'd had no reason not to, at that age. He just couldn't remember for sure.

He didn't trust anyone now, unless it was Veneciano or Spain. Romano had to admit that he was closer to Veneciano than anyone... them being twins and two parts of the same nation and all. Spain was a close second, for no real reason other than the two of them living together for such a long time and being lovers.

Romano kept things bottled up. He didn't share. One reason being, he didn't trust anyone. And the one he trusted enough to tell was too innocent and trusting to tell. He couldn't tell Veneciano his secrets, because really... he couldn't handle them. It wasn't that he wasn't strong enough. Feliciano Vargas was much stronger than most gave him credit for. It was simply that he was too emotional. Romano knew that if he told his brother, Feliciano would cry and want to make it all better. And he couldn't. He couldn't.

He did have one way of letting his secrets out. It wasn't the best way, and Romano lived in constant fear of it being discovered, but it was a way. Romano had kept a diary since he was a child. He wrote down all his secrets, things that pained him, whatever he had to get off his chest. He didn't write in it regularly or faithfully... only when his secrets and emotions stacked up so high inside of him that he could feel himself about to snap into insanity. That was when he wrote. And he would keep writing until the pain in his chest eased and tears stained the lined paper

As soon as he filled a notebook, he burned it and started a fresh one. In a way, burning his secrets made him feel better. In another, it hurt, because though the secrets were "gone" - burned away in the fire – they were still ever-present in Romano's mind; as sharp and vivid as ever. Memories, secrets, scars... the things etched in Romano's mind and some even marring his body... those couldn't be burned away so easily.

Romano went a long time between diary entries. Mostly because he also used Spain as an outlet. He didn't share his secrets with the older nation. He simply yelled and cursed to his heart's content – after all, with Romano's short temper and Spain's affinity for rubbing him the wrong way with his cheerful babble, it was easy enough to find something to argue about – and since Spain was such a perpetually happy person, the whole thing would blow over by the end of the day.

Part of him felt guilty for always seeming so angry at Spain. But he had to. It was the only defense mechanism he had. And without defenses, he had nothing. Because Romano knew that the moment Spain found out everything that he was hiding, he'd had no more cause to love him.

And Romano would be left behind once again.

Just like he always was.

* * *

**Spain**

_I just don't understand him. Pues, I've been keeping this diario the whole time we've lived together, and the things I wrote then and the things I'm writing now are practically the same! His temper is muy malo. I've been told it "comes with the territory", but couldn't he at least try to go a day without biting my head off over something?_

_He and I might be dating now, but I still can't say with certainty that he loves me. In fact it seems that he hates me sometimes. But perhaps that's just Lovi's way! I should be used to this, no? I've been taking care of him since he was a niño. I love him... and I think he loves me. But I can't wrap my brain around him. Why can't he just lighten up? I want him to trust me, and I don't want to force it... but he's had years. If he doesn't think he can trust me by now... pues... I don't know how I'll ever convince him otherwise._

_~España_

* * *

"Vaffanculo, bastardo!"

"Aw, Lovi, you don't mean it."

"Hell yes I do! Leave me alone!"

Spain rolled his eyes and turned away from the closed door, leaving his Italian lover to pout all alone. Inside, he was a bit hurt. He always was when Romano acted this way. He told himself that was just Romano's way... but he didn't believe it. What's more, he didn't want to believe it.

Romano rarely gave Spain any indication that there was something more to his abrasive personality than met the eye. However Spain took those fleeting moments, however few and far between, as a sign that all was not as it appeared.

It would have been so much easier if Romano opened up. Just once. Spain tried his hardest to make sure that the younger nation understood that he was always free to trust Spain with anything.

He wished just once that he could get inside that hard head. Then he might be able to understand why Romano felt he had to keep such high walls up all the time. The only person he seemed to trust was his little brother... and Veneciano had told Spain on many occasions that he wished Romano would tell him what was really going on.

So Romano kept it all inside. Spain understood that. To a point. He kept secrets. Everyone did. It was a part of life. Even more so when you were a nation. But there was only so much you could stuff down and keep hidden before something happened.

Spain left Romano alone for the better part of an hour, before he knocked on the door again.

"What?" Romano barked from the other side of the door.

"It is almost time for the meeting, Lovi," Spain said gently. "I need to get dressed, and we need to leave."

Spain thought he heard Romano growl, but after a moment the lock clicked. By the time Spain got inside, Romano had disappeared inside the closet to dress. It was obvious he was still mad.

Spain's suit was laid out on a chair in the corner. He had just finished his shower when Romano had locked him out, so he'd been wandering the house in his boxers for an hour. Then again, he'd been locked out his room wearing less before, so Spain wasn't complaining.

He dressed himself carefully in the dark grey suit. He debated for a moment whether to put on the bright red tie or not, and opted for the latter. It wasn't the end of the world if he went a little more casual to this meeting. Was it? Spain winced, remembering that England was hosting this month's conference. He wouldn't voice his disapproval - at least not to Spain - but it was generally known that meeting's held at England's were formal. The casual meetings were generally held in America. With a moment's hesitation, Spain grabbed the tie off the back of the chair and swung it around his neck with practiced ease.

"Are you ready to go, Romano?" Spain called in the direction of the closet, snugging the knot up to his throat. He usually reverted to using this name only when he knew the Italian was seriously pissed off. It felt so informal to Spain and he liked to think that he and Romano were closer than that. But with the way Romano protested whenever Spain used a nickname, he had to wonder.

"I'm coming, bastard," Romano huffed, appearing out of the closet wearing a black suit and a deep frown. He stopped in front of the dresser and leaned in toward the mirror, trying to fix his slightly unruly auburn hair. "Let's go."

"Ai, you look so cute!" Spain said with a grin before he could censor himself. Romano's scowl deepened and Spain's smile dropped away. The Italian practically stomped out of the room with Antonio following behind.

* * *

_**Oh Spamano. How I have missed you~~**_

_**Thanks for the read! Drop a review if you've got a spare!**_

_**-Jack**_


	2. Chapter 2

"All right, all right!" Arthur Kirkland - the representation of the United Kingdom of Great Britain - rolled his eyes at the loud, obnoxious former colony of his. "America, I believe we've established your thoughts on global warming. We're getting off track. Will you please concede the floor so we can get back to our agenda? We're running bloody late as it is," Britain added, consulting his watch.

"All right, Iggy dude!" America said. "The world isn't ready for my epic hero ideas anyway-"

"Shut up, America," Britain said briskly. "The nation of Italy is next on the agenda, so Italy?"

"Ve, me?" The lithe brunette jumped to his feet. "There's not much going on... I didn't think I needed to write a speech thing because it isn't really anything worth noting..."

"Did you get and Canada get that issue with the mafia cleared up?" asked a voice in the back, recalling to mind an issue from the last world meeting.

"Ve~ well, that's not really-"

"Hey!" Romano spoke up sharply from beside his brother. "Veneciano doesn't need to worry about the mafia."

"That's right! Fratello handles the mafia!" Italy said. "He's such a nice big brother..."

"All right, Romano. Do you have anything to report?" Britain asked. "And... I suppose it concerns Canada as well... is Canada here? Matthew?"

"I'm right here," came the meek and slightly irritated voice of Canada, who was seated right between America and France... directly across from England.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Romano rolled his eyes. "We got it taken care of. It wasn't a mafia cell; it was a one time, outside hire. Nothing to worry about."

"That's a rare occurrence," noted Britain. "Are you certain the-"

"I told you that's what happened!" Romano cut in. "Are you saying I'm lying to you? Are you calling me a liar?" Romano glared angrily down the table at Britain.

"England isn't saying that you're a liar, Lovino," said Spain gently. "Pero... that _is_ a very odd-"

"Shut up!" Romano barked. "You're all jerks! Why don't you ever listen to what I say?"

"Lovi, we're-"

"No, you think I'm lying! Why would I lie about this? I wouldn't do that! It isn't just my people we're talking about, it's _his_ too!" Romano flipped a hand in Canada's direction. "Why do I get blamed when shit like this goes down anyway? They live in his fucking country, why do I have to get involved? Is it just because you all hate me? Well get this bastar-"

"Lovino!" Spain gripped Romano's upper arms. "Stop it."

"No!" Romano screamed. "You're the worst of all of them, Antonio! You don't know what it's like to be me! You can look at the world in such a goddamned cheerful way but you don't know shit about what I have to deal with! You think all problems can be solved with some food or some damn music and you think that if everyone just smiled, there'd be nothing else wrong with the world! It doesn't work that way, Toni!"

"Lovi, you don't know what you're talking about." Spain's face darkened slightly as he spoke. There was an edge in his voice. "You think I don't have problems? Do you listen to my reports at these meetings? Do you listen when I take a call from my boss?"

"Oh, so now your problems are bigger than mine? They're bigger than mine, worse than mine, but easier to cover up than mine! You're such a damn hypocrite, you bastard!"

"Lovino!" Spain barked, but Romano didn't listen.

* * *

_It hurts so bad, but I'm so used to it.  
What would even happen to me if I didn't feel this way?  
I wish it away constantly, but at the same time I am afraid.  
Why am I always so afraid?_

* * *

The rest of the room sat in a stupor. The two arguing nations had switched to yelling in Spanish around the time Spain tried to get Romano to stop yelling before things got worse. The rising level of volume in the conference room had even woken Greece from his usual slumber.

Italy had tried pulling his brother out of the fight, and had been completely ignored. A few other nations tried to interject, but Spain and Romano were too deep into their argument to listen. Other squabbles broke out around the conference room. Ukraine started to sob. Greece and Turkey were arguing over something that made Japan flush and try to quiet them. Norway slapped Denmark when Denmark tried to pull out his axe and run after the Netherlands. Then again, Norway tended to do that sort of thing to Denmark, so perhaps it shouldn't count. Still, by the time America and Cuba started a shoving match, Britain had had quite enough.

Canada was the first to notice when the lights began to dim. His eyes went wide and found Arthur across the table. The Briton's eyes were half-shut, his lips moving to produce barely audible words. The light in the room grew steadily darker, and slowly the arguments began to cease. All save the original pair of quarrelers, who were still going at it like there was no tomorrow.

Britain's chanting grew until a sudden shout rang from his mouth. Spain and Romano both froze where they stood for a split second, then collapsed to the ground.

Italy screamed, rushing to his fallen brother's side and shaking him violently - to no avail. "Fratello!" His wide, tear-filled auburn eyes found Britain and turned angry. "What did you do to them? Did you kill them?!"

Britain's green eyes went suddenly wide. "No, no! They're not dead! They are simply unconscious. I am sorry, I just could not stand the bloody screaming match anymore. I will apologize as soon as they awaken. Probably within an hour or two. For now, would someone mind helping to take them out of the conference room, please?"

America and Germany volunteered. America threw Spain over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, while Germany took a little bit gentler approach with Romano, knowing that Italy was watching closely, worried for his brother. The three of them (America and Germany doing the heavy lifting and a frightened Northern Italy trailing behind) followed Britain's directive and went out the door, returning in minutes without Spain and Romano.

"Now then," said Britain, straightening his tie and jacket. "To continue with the meeting. Korea, I believe you had a presentation for us..."

* * *

_How do other people do it? How do they trust people like it's no big deal?  
Aren't they afraid of rejection, too? Aren't they afraid that the person they're telling all of their shit to will turn around and reveal everything?  
People are bastards. All of them. So how can they not be afraid of that one spiteful act it takes to ruin someone's life?_  
_God knows that is the one thing I fear most in the world.  
Trusting people is something you do when you're too weak to handle it yourself.  
I am not weak. But I am afraid._

* * *

Ludwig could feel Feliciano fidgeting beside him as the rest of the world turned their attention back to the meeting at hand. He knew his friend must be concerned for his brother, after the strange display that Arthur had put on for them earlier. Ludwig thought Arthur could have handled things with more tact, but to be frank, it had been a solution when no one else had one forthcoming. Ludwig had always hated when the arguments at world conferences got out of control. The representation of the southern half of Italy was always one of the worst offenders. With such a short fuse, Feliciano's brother seemed to look for any opportunity to start an argument. Ludwig could not fathom how Lovino and Feliciano could be so different when they were the same nation.

Ludwig leaned over and spoke in a low voice near Feliciano's ear. "Don't worry, Feliciano. He will be fine. England said so."

Feliciano turned his gaze up to Ludwig. An angry glint shone in his auburn eyes. "England is the one who-"

"Feliciano, calm down. It was getting out of hand. Something had to be done."

"I was talking to him. It would have worked. He didn't need to do that," the Italian nation said irritably. "Fratello gets this way sometimes. He would have calmed down himself."

"I don't know that he would have, Feliciano. You know your brother. Better than I do, of course, but it is well established knowledge that his temper is, shall we say..."

"Don't," Feliciano cut in. "It's just how Fratello is."

"We had a conference to get back to. We have these things for a reason, Feliciano. As much as all the nations here tend to think otherwise, we do not gather each month to quarrel away our day. We meet to brief each other on happenings in our countries and to share information." Ludwig took a breath, prepared to launch into a lecture about the necessity of the world meetings, but Feliciano cut in before he could.

"I know, Ludwig. I know." Feliciano said no more, and turned his gaze away from Ludwig to stare silently at the mahogany conference table. Ludwig decided that it was probably best just to drop the matter for the time being.

When the meeting was finally over, Feliciano excused himself from the table and dashed out of the room as soon as possible. He hadn't been able to stop worrying about his brother for the whole meeting. He'd felt a pain in his chest when Lovino had collapsed. He got these types of pains when his brother was suffering. It had been brief, and hadn't returned since the initial pang, but it still had Feliciano worried.

He slipped out of the conference room and down the hall toward the elevators. He punched the button for the second floor and waited anxiously for the car to move. When the doors slid open, Feliciano walked quickly down the hall to the room that they had left the two unconscious nations in earlier. It wasn't one of the hotel rooms, but more of a sitting room with plush, oversized furniture. His brother lay across one couch, exactly where Germany had placed him earlier. Spain sat in a highbacked chair, awake, but looking tired and rather ill. "Antonio?"

When he saw Feliciano enter, he didn't smile. He didn't look at all his cheerful self. Feliciano couldn't blame him. "Hola, Feli."

"How are you feeling?"

Antonio winced. "To be honest, I feel like mierda. What happened?"

Feli's face darkened, but Antonio didn't notice. "Britain cast a spell on you to make you and Fratello stop arguing."

Antonio frowned. "Here I thought the self-proclaimed gentleman would have had enough self-restraint to refrain from casting spells on fellow nations during a meeting. Pues, I know things got a little out of hand between Lovi and I..." He shook his head. "I would have thought Arthur would know better."

Feliciano was staring at his brother as Antonio spoke. His fratello _looked_ okay, from here. Feliciano hoped his worry was unnecessary, as it usually was. Fratello always told him that he worried too much. But Feliciano loved his brother. He loved his friends. What was he supposed to do if not worry about them if they were sick or hurt or in danger?

It wasn't long before Lovino began to stir as well. He opened his hazel eyes with a curse on his lips. "Fucking shit, hurts like fucking hell. What the hell happened?" He groaned and let his eyes go shut again, as if trying to squeeze the migraine out of his head. "Damn you, Antonio, what the hell did you do this time, bastard?"

Antonio scoffed and Feliciano knelt beside his brother. "Fratello, it wasn't Antonio's fault, it was Mister England. He didn't like that you and Antonio were arguing, so he put a spell on you to make you stop." Feliciano bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as his brother cracked one eye open and half-glared at Feliciano. "Can I do anything to help you, Fratello?"

Lovino let his eyes go shut again. "I just want to go home and sleep off this damn headache. Feels like a shitty hangover, minus any fun."

"Since when are hangovers fun?" Antonio remarked.

"I meant fun with actually being drunk, idiota," Lovino snapped. "Just forget it. Can we go home yet?"

"Ve, I'll ask Ludwig," Feliciano said. "We can take you home since you don't feel good."

Lovino didn't even make any of his usual protests about the "stupid potato bastard". Feliciano waited only a minute before rushing from the room and off to find Germany as fast as he could.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland stepped off the elevator only moments after Feliciano Vargas boarded his. He had come upstairs with the intent to apologize to the two nations he had put out of commission two hours previously. He strode into the sitting room he had directed America and Germany to put Spain and Romano in, and found the two nations he sought sitting up and silent. As soon as Arthur entered, Spain and Romano locked their eyes onto him. He paused for an awkward moment, slightly worried that they would be angry. "Er... I came to apologize for any inconvenience I may have placed on you."

"Inconvenience?" Lovino's hazel eyes bore into Arthur's skull with a dull glare. "Thanks to you I've got the worst fucking headache in the history of the world. Plus my brother's freaked out, thanks to you. I don't mind missing the meeting, it's more the fact that you _cursed_ us."

"It was supposed to be a simple tongue binding spell," Arthur put in, trying to defend himself. "I supposed I... may have mixed part of it up, though." Arthur turned slightly red, not liking to admit that he wasn't as good at black magic as he liked to claim. "I accept full blame for knocking you out. I do hope you feel better soon. Really, the effects should only be temporary."

"Si, Arthur," Antonio said quickly, seeing that Lovino was ready to go into it with the Englishman. "We will be fine, I think. We would just like to get home so we can rest now."

"That sounds like a brilliant idea," Arthur said quickly, accepting the figurative olive branch that Antonio was extending. "Would you like me to call you a car? I don't know that you should drive in your condition. Since the spell backfired, I would recommend staying home for a good twenty-four hours."

"Sounds like the least you can do," Lovino said. "I don't want to spend a car ride with that potato bastard, anyway. It's bad enough I have to spend it with the tomato bastard."

"Ai yi yi," Antonio groaned. "Si, we would be most grateful for a car, Arthur. Gracias."

"Yes, indeed. Well then, I shall make a call. The car will be waiting outside for you in about ten minutes. I will tell Germany and Italy that they need not worry about seeing you home. Again, I do apologize. I suppose I will see you at next month's conference. You are hosting, correct, Antonio?"

"Si," Antonio said. "We will see you then, Arthur. Adios."

Arthur nodded and excused himself from the room. Antonio and Lovino made their way downstairs and into the car waiting for them. The ride home was silent, and when they reached Antonio's house, Lovino stomped to his own bedroom instead of Antonio's. While disappointed, Antonio was too exhausted and in too much pain to argue the matter now. He tossed his suitcoat over the chair in the corner, kicked off his shoes, and fell into bed where he almost instantly fell asleep.

* * *

_**So you guys know, I'm taking this fic slower. I want to get it right. I will never forgive myself if this story becomes a rambling jumbled up mess of blah. It will, however, probably end up being comical. I'm shooting for something that borders on comedy and feels. I feel that they mix really well together. I love those kinds of stories.**_

_**Anyway, here's your chapter. I hope you enjoyed. I'm trying to use Nation names for the conference and human names the rest of the time. The world meetings are just a little more formal than every day speech, so it's proper to use the nation names. Out of respect. At least in my head. besides, I just have become so used to using the human names, that I do it without even thinking now. Oh well. I'll still be using both, so... don't get confused. If you do get confused, feel free to ask questions. My PM box is always open.**_

_**Also on that note, I LOVE REVIEWS! :D So... if you love me... or my fictions... drop a review. It would make me a very happy author-boy.  
**_

_**Until next time. :D  
**_

_**-Jack  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino awoke in Antonio's bedroom, the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. Lovino stretched and then collapsed back against the pillows. There was no one in bed beside him, which was a little strange, because Lovino usually woke up to find Antonio either still fast asleep beside him, or propped up on one elbow, staring at him as he slept. No matter how many times Lovino told Antonio that staring at people while they were asleep was freaky and that he should stop it, Antonio continued the habit.

Lovino actually felt a little bit peaceful this morning, and exceptionally lazy. Normally, he would have gone to figure out where the hell Spain was, but today, he didn't feel like caring. He reached over toward the bedside table on his right to pull out his journal. His hand hit the other side the bed. Huh. Usually Antonio slept on this side of the bed. Whatever. Lovino rolled over, dug the journal out of the drawer, and lay on his side as he opened it. He stared at a blank page for a moment, wiggling the pen back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Usually he had no trouble writing down whatever was bothering him. He had been interrupted from writing it all down yesterday, so why couldn't he continue now? Why had he been interrupted?

Right. Antonio dragged him to that damn world conference. He'd been forced to sit and listen to all the other nations give their boring presentations about their boring countries. He'd been made to watch his brother slobber all over that German potato head he called a boyfriend. He'd had to listen to all of Europe argue with each other, America scream about his heroism, and that one Danish shit-head spout random crap that had nothing to do with anything. At least the Norwegian bastard kept that last one in check most of the time.

The only thing the monthly conferences did for Lovino was put him in a royally sour mood. They reminded him that he wasn't necessary. That his country didn't need him because they had Feliciano. That the world barely even recognized Romano as Italy when Veneciano was sitting right there. Once a month, he sat through these boring conferences and did absolutely nothing. They payed about as much attention to Lovino as they did to Matthew. He felt bad for Canada, actually. The poor kid was his own nation and still didn't get noticed ninety percent of the time. He lived in his brother's shadow, too. Lovino and Matthew had that in common. Always in someone else's shadow.

Lovino would have loved to skip the meetings all together. Stay home, away from the shadow his brother imposed. He couldn't. He'd been told it was a requirement of being a nation. Lovino wasn't a _nation_; he was _half_ a nation. The only important thing he did was keep the mafia under control so his brother didn't have to deal with that. He wasn't needed at the meetings. Feliciano had that all under control. But Spain dragged him along anyway.

Lovino ceased his furious scribbling. Wait. Yesterday's meeting. Yesterday's meeting had been different. He'd been pissed at Toni for an argument they'd had that morning. They had turned all the attention to Veneciano, asking about the mafia. It had set Romano off again. Spain tried to step in, calm him down, except Lovino was still pissed at him, so that was the wrong move. And argument and everything went black. He'd woken up with a blinding headache to an apology from Britain. An apology for putting a fucking spell on him. An apology that Lovino had not accepted. Then he'd come home and gone straight to bed. His bed.

What the fuck? Why was he in Toni's bed if he'd gone to his own? Had he woken up in the middle of the night and switched? He didn't remember doing that, and he hadn't gone sleepwalking since he was a kid. Plus, he was mad at Antonio. Where was that bastard anyway?

Lovino hauled himself out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. His head felt a little foggy when he sat up, and he figured it was the leftover effects of whatever stupid charms Britain had put on them the day before. Bracing himself against the sudden bout of dizziness when he stood, Lovino headed for the doorway. Looking back on the morning, Lovino would later wish he'd taken a little more time in getting his bearings. Because when he made his way into the kitchen, and saw _himself_ sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of Antonio's favorite cereal, he promptly passed out.

* * *

_I don't hate Toni. I mean, really, how can you hate someone so stupidly happy?  
I can try all I want, but if someone smiles at you enough, eventually you end up smiling back.  
I can't hate Toni. Sure, he's obnoxiously cheerful and the most irritating person in the world when he decides he wants to 'snuggle'.  
I wish I could hate him. Mio dio, my life would be so much easier if I could hate him, or if he hated me.  
But it's not. That's why I love Antonio. Because he's stupid enough to love me in return.  
Me, who's so flawed and the furthest thing from perfect you can get.  
Me, who's so pessimistic and jaded and angry all the time.  
Me, who's nobody special. Yet Antonio thinks I'm special.  
And somehow - even though I think he's a complete idiot for thinking so.  
Even though I tell myself over and over that it isn't true, that Antonio's just being his usual, chipper, optimistic self.  
Even though I _know_ I'm not special... somewhere in the deepest part of my heart, I want to believe him.  
Somewhere in there, I _do_ believe him. But that part of me recedes more every day lately._

* * *

Antonio was still asleep. Or rather, he was trying to be. He was so incredibly comfortable at this moment, he did not want to move a muscle. Somewhere in the back of his sleep-addled mind it registered that the light shining in the window was far too bright for his tastes, and was really not helping his sleep return to him.

Antonio kept his eyes shut firmly as he allowed himself to return to consciousness. The gears of his mind slowly began to turn as he sorted through his thoughts. He thought of what he needed to do today. Clean the kitchen, water the tomatoes, maybe do some laundry. He also needed to go through some light paperwork that his boss had sent over the day before yesterday. He had intended to do it after the world conference yesterday, but with all that had happened and the state he and Lovino had returned home in, he hadn't gotten to it.

Speaking of Lovino... Antonio peeled his eyes open and frowned. He blinked twice, the rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Why was he in Lovino's room? It had been such a long time since he had seen it. It was really a mess, which was a little surprising, since Lovino rarely used this room. He'd practically moved into Antonio's years ago.

And hadn't Lovino stormed off to his own room last night? Nights when he was really angry with Antonio, he would retreat to this room, but generally claimed that the Spaniard had the best bed in the house, and thus was entitled to sleep in it. Well, judging from the comfort level Spain was experiencing now, that was a lie. Not that Antonio minded. He loved having Lovi in his bed, even if he was peppered with insults and excuses and told just how much Lovino really hated being there.

Still confused as to how he had ended up in Lovino's bed with said Italian nowhere in sight, Spain lay in bed thinking, trying to remember anything after collapsing in his own bed with a vicious migraine after the World Conference. It was all black. He had no remembrance of anything after going to his bedroom. Hmm.

Antonio's stomach growled, and his hunger finally was the driving force behind getting him out of bed. It wasn't really a big deal if he'd slept in Lovi's room last night, he guessed as he rolled out from under the covers and felt his feet hit the cold, wooden floor. Antonio scratched his stomach absently as he padded out of the bedroom toward the kitchen for a bowl of cereal.

His movements were mechanical as he pulled out cereal, milk, and a bowl and spoon from various locations in the kitchen. He was still half asleep, and he really wasn't paying much attention to what he was doing. Luckily, cold cereal isn't exactly rocket science, so in no time at all, Antonio was seated at the kitchen table enjoying his breakfast. It didn't taste quite as good as he thought it would, but he ate it anyway.

He wasn't too far into his breakfast when he heard a door open down the hall, and footsteps growing louder as they moved toward the kitchen. He glanced up at the figure in the doorway and dropped his spoon. Antonio blinked hard and when his eyes opened again, he still found himself staring at... himself. The Antonio in the doorway proptly passed out, and Antonio, still confused beyond belief, immediately reacted and moved toward the doorway.

Antonio knelt down and studied the unconcious version of himself. It _was_ Antonio. The same tanned face Toni saw in the mirror every morning, the same perpetually mussed mop of chocolate brown hair, the same black pants and half-buttoned dress shirt he'd fallen asleep in yesterday. Antonio recognized the green eyes starting to blink back open as his own. "Qué demonios..." he breathed.

The Antonio on the floor suddenly narrowed his eyes straight at Toni. "Antonio?"

"Si? Qué-"

"Seriously? Toni?" The Antonio on the floor sat up and grabbed the other by the collar of his t-shirt. "Perché diavolo ti apparire assomiglia mi?"

"Perdón?" Toni responded, but the other Antonio suddenly looked down and his eyes widened. He pushed himself off the floor and bolted for the bathroom. Toni furrowed his brow and followed at a slower pace. He found the door to the master bathroom wide open, and the Antonio from the kitchen studying himself with wide eyes and a slightly horrified gaze. Then Toni caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. "Ay dios mío! Is... that... _me_?"

It was supposed to be Antonio. The reflection in the glass moved when Antonio moved, stood where Antonio was supposed to stand, and gave every impression that it was indeed his reflection. But the reflection in the mirror was Lovino. There was no doubt about it. And standing beside him, muttering in horrified Italian, was Antonio. Except...

"Lovi?" Antonio asked tenatively, unable to take his eyes off the reflections in the mirror.

"Shut up, bastard. Who the hell else would it be?"

"How-"

"How the hell should I know, bastardo?!" Lovino yelled, still staring at the mirror. "Why am I in your body?"

"Well, why am I in yours?"

"I ALREADY FUCKING TOLD YOU, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

"Lovi, calm down. Just..." Antonio couldn't stop staring. Why were they in each others bodies? _How_ had they gotten in each others bodies? "We'll figure this out, si?"

"How the fuck do you propose we do that?" Lovino spat angrily.

"I..." Antonio's brain raced, but in all honesty, he had nothing. "I don't know."

Lovino scoffed. "Great plan, Toni. Fucking perfect." Lovino bent over the counter-top and placed his head in his hands. "What the hell is going on?" he moaned. "This whole week is going so well."

"Oh, Lovi, please calm down. I'm sure..." Antonio stopped. Lovino cast a sideways glance at him, one eyebrow quirked as if to say _We're in each others bodies. You can't be sure of squat right now._ "We can just call Britain, no?" Antonio suggested at length. "Maybe he'll have some idea of what happened, and how to fix it!"

Lovino frowned, and Antonio almost laughed. The frown looked out of place on Antonio's face; as did the fairly cheerful (albeit confused) expression Toni was keeping on Lovino's face. They may have switched bodies, but their personalities remained fully intact. "Britain." Lovino deadpanned. "I'll bet it was his fucking spell that backfired and made us like this." He suddenly turned and stormed past Antonio and out of the bathroom. Antonio watched Lovino go, partly out of habit. He pursed his lips. It wasn't the same when the retreating backside wasn't Lovino's.

"You better call him, bastard." Antonio's voice filtered through the house as Lovino yelled. "And he'd better have a fucking good explanation for this."

Antonio raised his eyebrows and followed Lovino out of the bathroom and into Antonio's bedroom. "Have you seen my cell phone?"

"No," came the curt reply. Lovino quickly shut the drawer he had been rummaging through and spun around.

Antonio screwed his mouth to one side. "I think I left it in my pocket."

"So? Go get it, bastard," Lovino told him absently, roughly grabbing one corner of the bedsheets and half-heartedly attempting to make the bed.

Antonio shrugged and walked closer to Lovino, dipping his hand into the front left pocket of the pants Lovino was wearing. Lovino jumped and whirled around. "What the _hell_?!"

"My phone," Antonio replied, waving the aforementioned device in front of Lovino's field of vision. Lovino's face settled back into it's usual expression of general pissed-off-ness, which still looked so incredibly out of place on Antonio's face. Since Antonio knew it was really Lovino in there, it almost seemed normal, though. If you can call looking at your boyfriend and seeing your own face normal.

Antonio dialed Britain's number and held the phone up to his ear. It rang several times before going to voicemail. Antonio hung up. "He didn't answer. I'll have to try again later."

Lovino huffed. "Well that's just perfect. Screw him. I'm starving. Do we have any tomatoes?"

* * *

_**It's been exactly one month since I last updated. Writer's Block and Life like to gang up on me: prevent me from getting anything I  
**_**want_ to get done, done. Oh well._**

**_Body-swap? Check.  
Lovino's overactive potty mouth? Check  
Review? Well, that one's up to you._**

**_Until next time,_**

**_Jack_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Oh god, what's it been on this one? Two months?  
_**

**_Two. Fucking. Months._**

**_Sheisse._**

**_So yeah. This chapter contains lots of swearing, screaming, insulting, throwing of things, and - possibly most offensive of all - the eating of Cheerios. _**

**_If I was Britain... well, first of all, I'd be able to spell 'Britain' without two extra I's that somehow weasel their way in there when I type the word, but secondly, I'd be running for my life. Maybe that's what he's doing. You don't know. You're sitting here reading this pointless author's note, you don't know what the chapter contains. Except for the stuff I told you. But I mean, I could tell you that Spain's pet elephant is locked in the refrigerator in this chapter, doesn't mean it's true. I can say whatever, but usually I tell the truth. Where was I going with this? I don't remember. _**

**_Here's your chapter. _**

**_-Jack_**

* * *

Lovino scowled and used all the force he possessed to throw his cell phone at the couch. He would have used the wall, but that would have broken his phone and left him with no way to call that bastard Englishman. He folded his arms across his chest and shot an angry glare at Antonio, sitting at the kitchen table. The bastard was just sitting there eating Cheerios like he didn't have a care in the world. He looked _happy_. What the hell? _The bastard's sitting there in my body and he doesn't even care! _Lovino huffed and rolled his eyes. _Guess that's solid enough proof that it's Toni. No one else is that big of an idiot._

Antonio, on the other hand, had simply decided to leave the frustrated growling and incessant redialing to Lovi. He had it well in hand. Antonio was starting to pity Britain. Whenever he reached his phone and saw all those missed messages, he would probably think he missed a war outbreak or something. Then again, if Arthur didn't answer his phone soon, Lovino might decide to _start_ a war.

"Calm down, Roma. Sit down. Have a tomate."

Lovino glared. "I did. And now we need that tea bastard to call us back or so help me I will-"

"Calm down," Antonio repeated.

"NOT UNTIL I AM BACK IN MY OWN FUCKING BODY!" Lovino practically screamed.

"Lovi, getting angry isn't going to make Britain call us back any sooner. Just sit down, have a tomato, and I am sure Arthur will call us back as soon as he checks his phone. He's probably in a meeting or something!"

Lovino scowled deeply and stomped across the room to the table, where he dropped himself into a chair, slumped down in it, and grabbed a tomato from the basket on the table. Antonio watched him bite into it viciously, chewing with a frown that Antonio could not believe was possible while eating said fruit. He smiled anyway. "See? You did want a tomato, Lovi!"

"Shut it, bastard. Are you always this fucking hungry? because I know _I_ don't have this kind of appetite."

Antonio shrugged. "I guess so."

Lovino let his gaze trail out the large window to the front yard of Antonio's spacious Spanish ranch. Antonio leaned forward and cautiously touched Lovino's arm. "Mi amor?"

"Shut up."

"What's wrong?"

Lovino didn't bother glaring at Antonio. "I'll give you one guess, bastard."

"That can't be the only thing bothering you, mi corazón."

This time Lovino did look back at Antonio, but the expression he gave set Antonio ever more on edge. Even a glare would have been welcome at this point. The hollow look in the green eyes that were actually Antonio's own put a strange ache in the Spaniard's chest and twisted his stomach. Lovino's voice sounded like something out of Spain's conquistador days. "Let's deal with one thing at a time, Toni."

There was a heavy silence in which Lovino refused to say anymore, and Antonio did not know what to say. Both parties jumped when the silence was broken by a very loud rendition of the Harlem Shake.

Lovino shot Antonio a questioning look. Antonio simply shrugged and reached for his phone. Lovino beat him there. "About time you fucking called back, asshole."

"Spain?" the voice on the other end of the line asked hesitantly.

"It does sound like him, doesn't it?" Lovino spat in complete sarcasm.

"Well, it's Antonio's voice, certainly. However, I haven't heard you swear since... by God, since your conqueror days. I saw a few missed called from you on my phone, in between about eighty from Romano-"

"AND YOU FUCKING CHOSE TO CALL THE SPANISH BASTARD BACK FIRST?"

"Oh bloody hell. Romano?"

"No shit, asshole," Lovino fumed, and suddenly found his hand empty. Antonio held the device to his ear now and spoke much more calmly into it.

"Hola, Inglaterra."

"By God, Antonio. You sound exactly like Romano." The Englishman sounded completely astounded.

"Well, that's the thing..." Antonio twisted his mouth. "I don't really know how to explain it, mi amigo..."

"It's not like it's hard, Toni!" Lovino spat, loud enough for Britain to hear as well. "We're in each others bodies, and you need to switch us back, bastardo!"

There was a silence over the line. "Arthur?"

"Yes, yes, Rom- er, Spain. Bloody hell," he muttered again. "When did this happen?"

"We woke up like this."

"Did you come in contact with any faeries? It sounds like a prank they would pull, honestly."

"Ah- no." Antonio's brow creased. Britain did have an affinity for his imaginary friends, didn't he?

"Right, well of course not." Britain sighed heavily.

"Can you change us back or not, Arthur?" Antonio cut in.

"I'm not sure, to be honest."

"What the hell?" Lovino, who had smashed his ear up against the other side of Antonio's cell phone to listen, cut in. "Your stupid magic did this, so you fix it!"

"My- Oh bloody hell."

"You've said that," Antonio informed him.

"It can't possibly have been my spell from yesterday, could it?" Britain was barely audible over the line, muttering to himself now. Antonio could hear the rustling of pages in the background. "I mean, I fired a simple sleeping charm, body swapping isn't one of the side effects of that spell."

"There are side effects to magic spells?" Antonio asked.

"Well of course there are, Lovino."

"Antonio."

"Right. Sorry. Bloody hell, that will take some getting used to."

"Not if you just switch us back, bastard."

"I suppose it isn't all that hard if I just listen for the voice that curses in every sentence," Arthur muttered loudly. Lovino scowled.

"You-" Antonio cut the angry Italian off with a hand pressed against his mouth.

"Can you please try? Por favor, Bretaña?"

"Yes, of course. I'll give it my best go. I'll be over in an hour, all right?"

"Si, si. Of course. We will be waiting."

"What else would we do?" Lovino deadpanned. Before Antonio had any chance to answer the rhetorical question, Lovino's own cell phone began to ring. He checked the id and rolled his eyes. "It's my brother. I'll be in my room. You better not fucking follow me."

And then, Antonio was alone in the kitchen again. So he sat down to finish his breakfast.

* * *

_They've made me feel like a prisoner_

_They've made me feel set free_

_They've made me feel like a criminal_

_Made me feel like a king_

_They've lifted my heart_

_To places I'd never been_

_And they've dragged me down_

_Back to where I began_

~Words by Hawk Nelson~

* * *

Lovino waited until he crossed the threshold of his bedroom before answering his cell phone.

"What do you want, Feli?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Big brother Toni?"

Lovino groaned inwardly and leaned back against the closed door. "No, it's Lovino."

"It sounds like big brother Toni."

"I just..." Lovino was not about to try and explain this shit to his baby brother. "I have a cold. That's why my voice sounds weird."

"Promise it's Lovi?"

"Yeah sure, whatever. I promise it's really me."

Funny how it took nothing but Lovino's word to convince Feliciano. "Oh wow, I'm sorry you don't feel good, fratello! Do you want me to come and make you some pasta? When I don't feel good, Ludwig makes me pasta and it makes me feel better."

A deep breath. "No, Feli. I don't want pasta."

"Okay then, maybe big brother Toni will give you some tomatoes to make you feel better then, because you like tomatoes a lot."

A pause. "Maybe."

"Oh!" Feliciano suddenly exclaimed, mostly overlapping Lovino's deadpan response. The northern half of Italy's voice suddenly got uncharacteristically solemn and quiet. "Fratello, are you sick because of what Mister Britain did at the meeting yesterday?"

"Yeah, I guess so. It's not a big deal, Feli," Lovino brushed it off with a lie. Feli didn't need to know about any of this. No one did. The sooner it was behind them, the better. It was bad enough Britain was coming over. "Did you need something?"

"I was worried about you, fratello," Feliciano said quietly. "I thought you were going to let me and Germany take you home."

"Britain felt bad about what he did, and had someone drive Toni and I home," Lovino said. "It was the least the bastard could do."

"I guess so," Feli said quietly. "Lovino?"

"What, Feli?"

"I miss you."

"You saw me _yesterday_, idiota," Lovino pointed out, rolling his eyes.

"But... we didn't get to talk. And before yesterday, it was a month since I last saw you. Don't you like me anymore, fratello?"

Lovino clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Don't be stupid, Feli. You're my brother."

"Yeah, but you don't like to spend time with me anymore. Did I do something wrong?"

"You know, Feli, think about who _else_ is always around when I see you." Lovino figured it would be obvious, but Feliciano went very quiet on the other end for a long moment. "Feli. It's not _you_ I'm avoiding, it's your potato bastard of a boyfriend."

Feliciano sighed. "Oh right."

"Come for a visit without him, and you can stay as long as you like," Lovino said with a sarcastic cheerful tone in his voice. Feliciano was practically joined at the hip with the stupid, muscle-bound German. Maybe an hour would go by, and Feliciano would be running to find his precious Germany.

"You really don't like Ludwig," Feliciano stated sadly. Lovino scoffed.

"You've just now picked that up?" Lovino bit out. "Dio, Veneciano. I've only made it clear as crystal since you introduced me to the bastard that I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, and I don't know how in the hell you stand him." Lovino's voice got louder as he went on. There was silence on the other end of the line, but Lovino took no notice. "As soon as you can let go of that damn potato sucking jerk for more than five seconds, you and I can have a civil conversation. I don't trust him, Feli, and you shouldn't either! Don't you remember the last jerk you trusted? He broke your fucking heart, and you just move on like that!"

"But I do trust Ludwig," Feli put in softly, his voice tight with restrained tears. "He's never done anything bad to me, and he's been so nice to me ever since we met. I- I love him, Lovino," Feliciano said, his voice quiet, but utterly earnest. "I remember Holy Rome. Of course I remember him. But I don't believe Germany will ever do that to me."

"Then have fun with your potato sucker," Lovino snarled, and hung up the phone. He crossed the room and dropped his phone in his top dresser drawer, then collapsed onto his bed and smashed the pillow around his ears.

Once his brain and his anger simmered down slightly, Lovino withdrew his journal from the lower drawer of his nightstand. He put his pen to the paper and spewed his furious feelings until Antonio knocked on the door and said that England had arrived.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED.  
OBVIOUSLY.


	5. Chapter 5

_**I wrote half of this chapter listening to Beat It by MJ on repeat, and the other half listening to Billie Jean. I don't know if that's relevant or not, I just feel you needed to know.**_

_**Please don't slay me for being so late, thank me for finally updating. It was a lot of hard work sorting out the brain vomit to come up with this chapter. I do apologize for taking so long, but trust me – the threats work. My friend Rachel said she wouldn't update her current PruCan fic until I updated at least one of mine. It took a week for that to sink in, but I finally got it through my thick head and sat down to write. In my defense, I haven't actually had a lot of time to sit down and write between work and sorting out details for college in the fall and getting addicted to all the Marvel Avengers movies, Supernatural, and Doctor Who at the same time. Time management isn't really my strong point. But here it is regardless. Please enjoy.**_

_**P.S. – Hipster Canada: NOW WILL YOU PLEASE UPDATE?**_

_**-Jack**_

* * *

Arthur Kirkland didn't bother to wait for an answer to his knock before going straight through the front door into Spain's home. Immediately to the right was the kitchen, in which sat the physical representation of Southern Italy in only a pair of crumpled dress pants, a spoon hanging out of his mouth. He didn't look surprised to see Britain enter, and he didn't scowl and start spitting curses in his direction. This must be... "Spain."

"Hola Inglaterra!" the brunet said cheerfully around the spoon, waving a hand. "You got here fast."

"Yes, well... this seemed important."

"Oh it is. Hang on, I'll go get Lovi." The Spaniard in Lovino's body leisurely strolled out of the room. "Loooooviiiii..." Britain heard the man singing all the way down the hall. _Definitely not Romano_, the Briton thought to himself. _Far too happy_. "Lovi, Arthur is here!"

Britain blinked hard and shook his head. This was already far too strange. And believe him when he said he was used to dealing with strange things. He still wasn't certain he could remedy it. Or that it was even his fault. A spell as simple as the one he'd made the previous day would never have these kinds of side effects. Body swapping was a much more complicated endeavor all it's own. Nevertheless, he had to try. Heaven knows Antonio and Lovino would never reverse it without his help. If anything, the pair would end up making it permanent or something. As it was, many spells had trial periods. After a certain amount of time, the spell would either reverse itself or become irreversible. Arthur needed to get to work. The sooner he figured out the problem, the better.

He'd brought his best spell book with him. It was the one he used most often and he thought he remembered swapping charms being buried in there somewhere. It probably would have been best to utilize his whole library, but Arthur had figured it would be best to see the two cursed parties in person to better guess a diagnosis. Also, they had seemed in rather a rush over the phone. Well, Romano had. Spain was curiously laid-back about being in his former charge/current partner's body. At any rate, Arthur had rushed to the basement, grabbed his book off the table, and hurried to Spain's house as quick as he could.

Arthur crossed the room and sat his book bag on Spain's kitchen table before unhooking the straps. He pulled out the large volume and began to leaf through the pages. "Summoning charms, severing charms, disillusion charms, muffling charms, amplifying charms," the blond nation muttered beneath his breath. "Bloody hell, they're in here somewhere."

"So Inglaterra!" The English nation jumped visibly when Southern Italy suddenly appeared from nowhere and draped his arm around Britain's shoulders. _No, not Romano. Spain,_ Britain had to remind himself. "What do you think?"

Britain glanced toward Spain and saw Spain... _Romano_... standing behind him, arms folded firmly across his chest and green eyes glaring spitefully. "Lovi, say hi to Britain!"

"Ciao, bastardo," the Italian-in-a-Spaniard's-body spat. Britain's sizable eyebrows rose.

Britain had never seen such an attitude radiating from Spain's body before – not even during their conqueror days when they'd constantly been at each other's throats. "Bloody _hell_," Britain muttered. "It's definitely a body swapping spell."

"Ya _think_?" Lovino spat. "So can you fix it or not?"

Britain shook his head slightly and turned back to his spell book. "Give me a moment, Lovino. Ahh, here we are. Swapping spells." Britain's green eyes scanned the page, looking for a spell that fit their situation. He flipped to the next page and continued reading as the surly nation tapped his foot against the floor and the cheerfully oblivious one sat back down to finish his cereal.

"God, how long does it take?" Romano finally shouted after several moments in which the only sounds were Spain chewing and Britain's finger brushing back and forth across the paper.

"Keep calm and carry on," Britian muttered. "I don't want to mess it up."

"You messed it up last time," Romano hissed.

"Lovi, let him read! I'm sure he'll find the cure in no time! Here, have a tomate!"

"I DON'T WANT ANOTHER DAMNED TOMATO, TONI, I WANT MY BODY BACK."

"Hush, both of you. I found it," Britain said.

"Which chapter of your Harry Potter book was it in?"

Britain's face flushed slightly red. "It's not from Harry Potter! That's a different spell entirely..." The Englishman cleared his throat and pointed to a spot on the book. "It's a switching charm. It's... actually rather similar to the sleeping charm I tried to use yesterday." Britain cleared his throat and stuffed down his embarrassment before continuing. "It doesn't have a reversal spell."

"Oh that's fucking fantastic."

"Lovi..."

"Shut up, Toni. He screwed us up and now he can't even fix it."

"A lot of swapping charms have remedies," Britain interjected. "Just because it isn't listed in this book doesn't mean there isn't one. I'll do a little more digging. It's... it's going to take some time, though."

"How much time?" Antonio asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Depends on how fast I can find the spells in my other books."

"Where are they?"

"At home in my library," Arthur answered simply. "As I said... it's going to take a bit of time. Since I already determined which spell was cast, in theory I should be able to find it a bit faster. I'll call you as soon as I find anything, I promise."

"And what the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

Britain shrugged. "Do whatever you normally do."

"I have a meeting with my boss in the morning," Spain said. He glanced nervously between Lovino and Arthur. "He'll never believe it's me if I walk in like this."

Arthur shrugged. "I really do wish I could help, and I'll do my best to find the reversal charm as fast as I can... but until I do there's nothing for it. Maybe... try to call in sick or something. It shouldn't take more than a few days at most to find the cure."

"So that's it. You're just leaving us like this."

"There's nothing I can do for you except find the cure, Lovino," Arthur said, looking at him dead on. "The sooner I get home to my library, the sooner you two will be back in your proper bodies."

"Okay," Spain said quietly. Though Arthur was just finally starting to get the hang of reversing the two faces, he was still oddly perturbed seeing Lovino's hazel eyes staring at him so calmly. "Gracias, Inglaterra. We appreciate anything you can do."

Britain's gaze lingered a moment longer on the calmer party before he flicked his eyes toward the obviously angry Lovino. "Of course. I'll be in touch."

Spain nodded and Britain took that as his cue to leave. He slipped his book back into his bag and headed for the door. As soon as it clicked shut behind him, Lovino was at Antonio's throat. "What the fuck, bastard?"

"Lovi, getting mad won't do anything. Britain said he's going to help, but it's going to take a little while. We'll both call our bosses and tell them we're sick. We'll stay in until Britain finds the cure. Everything will be fine."

"My boss will never believe I'm me when I sound like you. You try and call in for me all the time, stupid."

"Fine, then I'll call and pretend I'm you. And you can call my boss." Antonio sighed heavily. He was suddenly exhausted.

Lovino scowled, but he knew Toni was right. "Fine. But you're sleeping alone until we're fixed." Antonio raised one eyebrow, but Lovino just rolled his eyes. "I know you, you horny bastard. And I'm not fucking you while you look like me. Or vice versa!" Lovino added quickly, seeing the smirk flick across Antonio's face. "Just... he'll find the cure or whatever and everything will be back to normal. Until then just leave me alone."

Antonio nodded slowly. "Okay. Whatever you say, Lovi. I have some chores and gardening to do. Do you want me to make lunch later?"

Lovino shrugged. "Whatever. I don't care."

Antonio disappeared down the hall and Lovino dropped his gaze to the floor. Something was off with Toni now. Lovino hoped to God it was only because their predicament had finally sunk into his thick skull. He couldn't deal with a sulking Spaniard like this.

* * *

_Whoa-oh, whoa-oh, stuck like glue_  
_You and me baby, we're stuck like glue_

_~Stuck Like Glue by Sugarland~_

* * *

"Si, er..." Antonio glanced quickly at Lovino. "Si. Very sick, sir. Yes, sir. Tell Veneciano?" Lovino shook his head fervently, making a silent slashing motion across his throat. "Uh, no need. He'll just worry, uh... yeah, you know Feli. Yes sir. Thank you sir." Antonio ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief as he handed Lovino back his cell phone. "He said take your time to recover. He didn't know there were problems in your end of the country."

Lovino sighed heavily. "Yeah, I'll have to make something up."

"Your turn," Antonio said, holding his own cell phone out to Lovino. The Italian hesitantly accepted it and found the number for Antonio's boss. He held it to his ear and reminded himself to breath as it rang.

"Hola, Antonio?"

"Yeah it's me," Lovino said quickly. "I um... I'm not gonna be able to make our meeting tomorrow, boss. I'm not feeling very well."

"Oh? Well, Toni, you know this meeting is very important..."

_Shit_, Lovino mouthed. "Uh, yes sir, I know. I just... fu—ahh... I'm not feeling like myself." Lovino cringed at his own choice of words while Antonio silently cracked up across from him.

"There's definitely no way you can make the meeting?"

"Da-" Lovino cut himself off with a cough. "Er... no sir. There's no way."

"Well, I can't make you. I'll try to reschedule for next week."

"Thank you, sir," Lovino breathed.

"You get better quick, Carriedo," the Spanish boss commanded. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yes sir. Goodbye." Lovino ended the call and practically threw the phone back to Toni. "Oh my fucking god, that was so much harder than yours was."

Antonio rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Lovi."

"Anyway, he bought it. No meeting. He said he'd reschedule for next week."

Antonio nodded and slipped his cell phone back into his pocket. "So now we just avoid everyone except Arthur. They'd think we were crazy if we told them."

"Even if we didn't, we'd be acting like each other," Lovino pointed out. "You're such a shitty actor, no one'd ever believe you were me."

"I'm no worse an actor than you, mi amor!" Antonio said indignantly. "You could barely omit the swearing on that phone call, and it only lasted three minutes!"

Lovino stuck his tongue out at Antonio and quickly got up and left the room. Antonio rested his elbows on the desk, and propped his head in his hands. "Ai dios mio," Antonio muttered. "Please let Arthur find the spell quickly."

* * *

_To be continued..._

_(hopefully a little faster than last time...)_


End file.
